


Making-Up is a Dish Best Served Cold

by TheSoupDragon



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, M/M, Mystrade Prompt Challenge, October Prompt Challenge, Thank you Mottlemoth!!!, Tumblr Mystrade Prompt Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-07 09:55:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16406198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSoupDragon/pseuds/TheSoupDragon
Summary: Mystrade Prompt ChallengeHARDYour dialogue:“Let’s not get into that.”and“Why won’t you tell me?”The circumstances:at lunchtimeYou must mention:a disagreementAnd you must use the word:arrangeGreg paused for a second and looked at him. He had heard Mycroft use this tone of voice  before, but never directed at him. His jaw set a little. “Don’t play me like you play your minions, Mycroft,” he said in an equally cooling manner. “I’m not one a’them.”Mycroft snorted disdainfully.“Obviously,”he hissed.A lesser mortal would have withered and died instantly on the spot in the sub-zero wind that now blew across their lunch table, but Gregory was not a lesser mortal.





	Making-Up is a Dish Best Served Cold

**Author's Note:**

> This little creation is all thanks to spotting a tumblr post from Mottlemoth (also on AO3) about the Mystrade October Prompt Challenge. I used the prompt generator on the tumblr post to get three prompts (one from each category, easy, medium and hard) but this was the one that gave me the idea... And so here we are...! Hope you like it. :)
> 
> Massive thanks as always to [StarsAndStitches](http://archiveofourown.org/users/StarsAndStitches/pseuds/StarsAndStitches), for her unending enthusiasm and thoughtful and considered beta-reading...Not to mention her appreciation and total understanding of my somewhat warped and subversive sense of humour.

Mystrade Prompt Challenge  
**HARD  
** Your dialogue:  
**“Let’s not get into that.”  
** and  
**“Why won’t you tell me?”  
** The circumstances: **at lunchtime  
** You must mention: **a disagreement  
** And you must use the word: **arrange**

****

**“Let’s not get into that!”** said Greg firmly with a wry smile, but he saw immediately that Mycroft was not engaging with the joke. He was looking down at his plate, carefully selecting tiny morsels with his fork. He put the small forkful in his mouth and chewed, looking away from Greg, and when he’d swallowed, he put down his knife and fork rather precisely and pushed them neatly together. He hadn’t finished all his potatoes, and Greg knew they were his favourite. A bad sign. Greg cleared his throat. “I think we need to talk about this, actually,” he said. “I’ve been thinkin’ about it for a while. What I said—” he started, but Mycroft would not let him finish.  
“—Oh, I’m quite  _clear_  on what you  _said,”_  he retorted, interrupting crisply and sitting back slightly in his chair. “You have just said it. We have both heard it.”  
Greg leant forward across the table. “Look, M,” Greg said cajolingly, but very quietly, so as not to be overheard by the neighbouring diners. “Don’t be—” he stopped. “What I _meant_ to get across to him, was—”  
“—Ahh! It’s what you _meant_ now, is it?… _Not,_ after all, what you, in fact, _said_ …or even, did _not_ say…” replied Mycroft in a decidedly chilly tone. And then he added, “…And I asked you not to call me that in public.”

Greg paused for a second and looked at him. He had heard Mycroft use this tone of voice before, but never directed at him. His jaw set a little. “Don’t play me like you play your minions, Mycroft,” he said in an equally cooling manner. “I’m not one a’them.”  
Mycroft snorted disdainfully. _“Obviously,”_ he hissed.  
A lesser mortal would have withered and died instantly on the spot in the sub-zero wind that now blew across their lunch table, but Gregory was not a lesser mortal.   
Greg put his knife and fork down. He hadn’t finished his own meal either, but his appetite had suddenly quite disappeared.  
He lowered his voice and leant forward. “I wanna clear this up, right now,” he said, looking straight at Mycroft. “I’ve been thinkin’ about it and we do need to talk about it. About what I said - will you let me explain, please?”  
Mycroft glared glacially back. “Please _do_ try,” he said witheringly. “That’s if you can be accurate in your use of the English language and save me from this rather tiresome teenage _’he said/she said’_ conversation…” When Mycroft was really angry he enunciated every word and spoke in a sharp, clipped voice. Very frosty R.P. Usually, Greg loved the way Mycroft spoke, but he didn’t love this.  
“You’re not my father, Mycroft,” he said very quietly, but with a gentle firmness. “Please don’t speak to me like you are.” He pronounced every word very clearly too. He didn’t point at Mycroft to make him listen, but right now, he really bloody wanted to. He leant forward again. “Are you gonna listen to me?” he asked, but he kept his voice low. When Greg was angry, his brows lowered, his normally friendly face became threateningly dark. Perhaps a lesser mortal would have backed down and apologised. But Mycroft Holmes was certainly not a lesser mortal, either. 

They sat glaring at each other for a moment. Their first argument. And it was in public. The restaurant was packed and it would have been difficult for either of them to leave quietly and there was the danger of them making a scene. Besides, Greg didn’t want to leave _or_ make a scene. He wanted to sort this out. He took Mycroft’s frosty immobile silence as a positive response to the listening question, but before he could start, Mycroft spoke instead. “Gregory. You don’t need to try and spare my feelings. I know _exactly_ how your work colleagues feel about Sherlock,” he drew in breath then continued in a rush. “If it’s because you feel embarrassed about being in a relationship with me because I am his brother then—”  
Greg jerked back with surprise. “— _What?!_ You think I didn’t say anything about you because of _that?"_ From Mycroft’s expression, that was clearly exactly what he _had_ thought. “Christ, Mycroft! I don’t give a—” he glanced about and lowered his voice “—a rat’s _arse_ about them not liking Sherlock. _I_ like Sherlock…And I like _you. A lot_ …well, a lot more than just—” He drew a deep breath. “Mycroft,” he said quietly, starting again. “When Phillip asked me who I was seein’, he thought he was bein' clever but he ‘ad totally got the wrong end of the stick. He knows there’s a woman in forensics who’s after me, she’s made no bloody secret of it, but I’m not interested in ‘er and I never ‘ave been. Phillip doesn’t know… _anythin’_ yet, about me…I didn’t know if you were like, _out,_ or anythin’…I didn’t know if you were ok about…me and you. Or even if our…relationship…you know, was… _secret_ …or classified or somethin’. I was waitin’ to see if it was alright with you. If you minded…people knowin'… That’s why I didn’t tell 'im who I was seein'…”  
Mycroft was most acutely embarrassed that he had thought badly of Greg and _(worse)_ read the whole situation so poorly. “I see,” he said, chastened. Then he confessed. “For a moment I wondered if you had let slip to me that you were seeing someone else. It was very clear that you felt awkward and you were certainly hiding something from me…And then I thought from your obvious reticence to tell him about us that you were perhaps… _ashamed_ of me.” He was quite mortified himself by his lack of intuition. 

Greg spluttered in surprise. “ _’Ashamed of you?!’_ Are you fuckin’ _jokin’ ?”_ he laughed. Mycroft secretly liked it when Gregory spoke like this and he liked what he said next even more.  
“Mycroft,” said Greg softly, the sparkle back in his eyes, “I’m…I’m in love with you. I fuckin’ adore you, you—you big ginger nut-case.” He reached for Mycroft’s hand across the table and took it. He squeezed it. Mycroft’s heart had instantly done an impressive triple somersault at Greg’s use of the L-word. And had attempted a second one at the use of the A-word even as Greg continued. “I didn’t wanna…drop you in it, so to speak and …y’know, _out you_ before you were ready…Jesus, it’s not gonna be easy for me. There are some right small-minded old bastards at work. Some of ‘em are my superiors; I can’t just tell ‘em all to fuck off if they don’t like it.” He paused and tipped his head, considering. He shrugged with one shoulder and pulled a face. “Well…I prob’ly _could,_ but then I’d get a disciplinary…”  
Mycroft smiled and squeezed Greg’s hand lightly, his heart busy doing warm-ups for another display of internal joy. “That would be amusing but totally unnecessary,” he said. “The telling them to… _do that,_ I mean, not the disciplinary, of course…”  
Greg squeezed his fingers back in return and began to stroke his knuckles affectionately with his thumb. “Some people are too set in their ways to change their views,” he continued. “But M, some people are really happy for me. They can see how…happy I am…about having you in my life.” 

_Word for word, what his good friend Zac in the Fraud Squad had actually said to him after the last time Greg had met Mycroft for lunch was; “Look at you, you soppy great bastard! You’re all full of the joys of Spring!” Greg had grinned sheepishly, and Zac had added, “Greg mate, whoever he is, you literally shine when you’ve been with him - it's like you glow with happiness!”  
Greg had just grinned wider at that and said, “Do I?” like he didn’t know. But he had certainly felt like he did. _

Mycroft smiled and Greg smiled back. “So what should I say when people ask me?” Greg prompted.  
Mycroft didn’t need to think about his answer. “I have absolutely no qualms about people knowing that we are together…that we are _seeing_ each other. Tell whomever you please whatever you wish.”  
Greg mock shivered with delight. "Ooh, you're so hot when you talk like that," he whispered with a grin, and he lifted Mycroft's hand to his lips and kissed the back of his fingers. When he released Mycroft’s fingers, he mouthed, ”You’re filthy," over the top of Mycroft’s hand, and Mycroft had to stifle a truly undignified bark of laughter.  
He took a deep breath. He had realised that his strong feelings for Gregory and his consequent jealousy had clouded his usually crystal-clear view somewhat. _Hard to be coldly objective when you’re so deeply involved,_ he thought. “I’m sorry we had this argument and spoiled our lunch,” he said contritely, looking down at his plate.  
Greg was touched. An genuine and sincere apology from Mycroft Holmes! Christ! How times had changed. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sorry too,” he said. Apologies had never been difficult for Greg. “I should ‘ave thought before about what to say when people ask me. I should ‘ave talked to you about it sooner.’ There was a pause and then Greg nodded at Mycroft's plate and said, “Are you going to finish those? Because they’re my favourites an’ all, so if you’re not, then I will.”  
Mycroft smiled. He gestured generously towards his plate. “Be my guest,” he said, and Greg reached over with his fork and snaffled one of Mycroft’s rosti potatoes. It was a bit cold now but still delicious. Constantine’s did such fantastic food at all times of the day or night. Greg reached over again and speared the remaining three tiny balls of crisp potato _one, two, three_ on his fork so that it resembled an unusually small kebab. He ate them from it one by one, closing his eyes comically and miming food heaven as he chewed, just to make Mycroft laugh. Mycroft did, a bit. He couldn’t help it. He never normally laughed as much as he did when he was with Gregory.  
“Ooh, they’re _sooo_ bloody good…” Greg said once he had finished them. He gestured at Mycroft’s now empty plate with his now empty fork. “I’m getting that next time,” he declared.  
“Very well,” said Mycroft with a light grin. “Same time next Thursday, then?”  
“Yeah, I’m definitely ok for Thursdays. For now, at least.” Greg put his fork back on his plate.  
“Perhaps I could **arrange** something different next week for our lunch date…” Mycroft said musingly, intriguingly, and he drew out his phone and clicked the home button to wake it up.  
Greg sensed the air of mystery now wafting across the table. “Oh yeah? What sort of something would you be _arrangin’?”_ he asked.  
Mycroft was now discreetly texting. “Oh...nothing!” he murmured melodiously, innocently tapping away.  
Greg grinned. “Oooh, you schemer!” He kicked Mycroft’s foot under the table. **“Why won’t you tell me?”  
** Mycroft laughed. _" 'Schemer!’”_ he said, raising his eyebrows in jest. “That _is_ a new one!” but he had finished with whatever he was doing and he turned his phone onto sleep and slipped it back into his pocket. “And as for what it is, you shall have to wait and find out. That’s the entire point of a scheme….And may I apologise, that was terribly rude, texting in your company, but they will need some notice, even from me.…”  
_“They,_ eh?” remarked Greg, raising an eyebrow. “Mmm. Totally intrigued now,” he added. And then he glanced at his watch. “Well, time’s up for me, luvva…Still on for yours tonight at 8 then?”  
“Absolutely,” replied Mycroft. “So don’t forget your squash kit.” He reached into his inside pocket for his wallet. It was Mycroft’s turn to pay.  
Greg snorted. “Oh-ho! One of _those_ nights?’ he said, licking his lips and raising a lascivious eyebrow. He reached behind him for his jacket hung on the back of his chair and started to put it on.  
Mycroft just smiled at that. His phone chimed delicately and he drew it out of his pocket again and looked at it. “I’ve booked the court at Lawrence’s for 8.30…Please note that during the game we will not be discussing any schemes that may or may not be in progress, though.”  
Greg grinned. _All would be revealed in good time,_ he thought. _Don’t even ask._ He stood up, and as their immediate neighbours had left the restaurant anyway, he leaned across the table and down to quickly kiss Mycroft briefly on the lips. “Later, then, yeah?” he said, straightening up, checking he had his wallet and phone in his pockets. “Thanks for lunch.”  
Mycroft shrugged elegantly. “You’re welcome. No problem,” he said, using a phrase he had newly acquired from Greg. “See you later.”  
Greg turned to leave and then turned back. “Your scheme..." he said. “Did I ever tell you about my incredible interrogation skills?”  
Mycroft’s eyes twinkled mischievously and he smiled. Then he frowned lightly, and rested his chin on his hand, his index finger to his lip as if miming someone thinking hard. He tipped his head and dropped the pose. “I don’t believe you have…” he said thoughtfully, flirtily, as if unsure and trying to recall.  
Greg grinned. “Oh, they’re legendary, mate. Have been known to find out about all _sorts_ a’ schemes….Maybe I’ll give yer a demonstration later….” he said, then he turned to go. “Bye then!” he threw back chirpily over his shoulder, and he winked roguishly.  
When Sherlock did this, it drove Mycroft insane.  
When Gregory did it, it made his heart sing inside his chest.  
Mycroft raised his hand in a discreet half wave and on impulse, winked even more discreetly back. He heard Greg laughing as he walked away. Now that would definitely have got Sherlock’s vote of approval, he thought. 

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: R.P stands for “Received Pronunciation”, which is a form of speech (more a kind of accent) associated with early tv and radio broadcasting. It is also called ‘The Queen’s English.’ It’s mainly associated with the upper classes and the South of England, and may be colloquially considered a “Posh Accent”. Rather like the way one’s Queen speaks. 
> 
> The phrase “making a scene” is a colloquial term (look, I love these, alright?) for doing something embarrassing in public that makes everyone look at you. Hideously embarrassing. [Use ‘making a scene’ in a sentence: “Put that aubergine down and don’t make a scene, Marmaduke…”]


End file.
